Pocahontas's Wedding Night
by that1weirdkid
Summary: Exactly what it sounds like. Pocahontas x John Smith


Nervous.

That was the word to describe the ball of excitement, worry, and anticipation currently knotting itself into more and more complicated formations inside Pocahontas's stomach.

She had married John Smith a few wonderful hours ago, and she couldn't have been happier. His voice had been strong and steady, like an oak tree, as he promised himself to her. His eyes had been sincere; his hands firm and certain as they'd gripped hers. Everything about him was equally arousing and comforting.

Until now.

Pocahontas watched John Smith enter their tent. His movements were easy, fluid, and she felt warm all over when she observed his muscles flex beneath his shirt. She was just as curious as she was afraid of what was to come. Her father had vaguely told her what conspired between a man and a woman on their wedding night, but so many details hadn't even occurred to her until just now. For instance, how did one start?

"Hey…" John Smith said by way of greeting. He seemed slightly uneasy, which for some reason caused her ball of nerves to escalate to near panic. She smiled wanly. John Smith sat down next to her on their bed, his posture casual and at-ease. "Sorry I was gone so long. The boys wouldn't leave me alone!" he said, his eyes carrying a hint of laughter.

"Did they have a lot of questions?" she asked, thankful for something to talk about.

He took off his boots and set them aside as he spoke. "No more than usual." Pocahontas had never seen his feet before. They were so much like hers, but… different, somehow. It wasn't just how pale he seemed next to her—there was something about the shape; they seemed… well, a lot like his hands, come to think of it. Thicker than her own, but in a way that just made them look… stronger. He was still talking- "Just, you know," he said with a shrug, "questions about the wedding, and what it would mean for them. But I'm not too worried about that right now."

"Why would you be worried?" For some reason, the mere mention of the word worried her.

"Eh," he replied while settling back into a comfortable position on the bed, "I'm not. Whatever we decide to do, whether it's return to London or stay here, it doesn't matter much to me. I'm just happy to be with you." He pulled her against him in a sweetly possessive hug.

Pocahontas splayed her fingers across his back, her heartbeat accelerating. The masculine scent of his skin was making her dizzy.

John Smith caressed her face gently with one hand, cupped her chin, and brought her close for a tender kiss.

Pocahontas loved John Smith's kisses. Fireflies shot through her veins, lifting her up and making her skin glow. His lips were soft and captivating, his arms strong and sure. Little butterflies tickled her cheek whenever he exhaled. Every beat of his heart reassured her.

But this kiss was different. At first, John's lips were gentle, but then he was pulling her closer, his head tilting farther, and she felt something surprisingly warm and wet poking at her own parted lips. She opened them further in surprise, only to find John Smith's hot tongue slipping into her mouth. The sensation seemed to echo deep in the pit of her stomach, making her legs clench together in surprise. A gentle pulsing had started flowing through her, concentrating in all her most private places.

John Smith deepened the kiss further, caressing her teeth, welcoming her tongue into his mouth. Cautiously, she prodded the top of his tongue with hers. He moaned softly in return. Gaining confidence, she began exploring his mouth. She felt his teeth, then swept her tongue over his hot gums, which caused him to shudder. His shudder encouraged her. She threaded her fingers through his surprisingly soft hair, stroking it slowly as one might stroke a cat. The deeper she buried her hands, the closer their chests drew, until they started leaning backwards and fell over. Their lips broke apart with a burst of breathless laughter.

John Smith's energetic blue eyes regarded her warmly. Now lying on their sides, John Smith carefully pulled Pocahontas's body up along his, until they were touching from shoulder to knee. Pocahontas felt a throbbing pulse against her stomach, where something long and hard was poking her. Instinctively, she knew what it was. Her eyes widened.

Before she had a chance to react emotionally, John Smith was kissing her again, his hot tongue caressing hers. His hand reached up to caress her shoulder. His hand was surprisingly warm. It trailed from her shoulder, down her bicep, to her elbow… then gently explored her stomach. The pulsing between her legs increased to a steady throb. His fingers spread as his hand stroked higher, until…

He moaned as his hand captured her breast. She gasped, instinctively pressing her pelvis against his, causing him to exhale a ragged breath, breaking their kiss. He watched her through hazy eyes as his thumb inched a path to her nipple. She closed her eyes. Each sensuous stroke of her nipple echoed between her legs. Moisture pooled there; a new sensation. John Smith rolled on top of her, pressing his hard length against her inner thigh and kissing her passionately. She arched against him, pulling him as close as she could. She needed something she couldn't explain, something she knew instinctively that only John Smith could give her.

His hand traveled from her breast down to her stomach again, then grazed her thigh on its way to its final destination—the hem of her skirt. He lifted himself off of her just enough to lift her skirt above her waist.

Then, just as her hot thighs were starting to feel oddly cold, he pushed himself against her, rock hard and pulsing rhythmically. She broke the kiss to exhale a shuddering breath, arching against him again. He panted and inhaled through gritted teeth. He reached down to do something she couldn't see, but when his pelvis settled against hers again, there was nothing separating their most intimate of skin. Her legs had spread and she was rubbing her wet skin against him, enveloping the side of his shaft facing her in a juicy embrace. John breathed heavily against her neck, a sensation which she had just discovered she _also_ loved.

He reached down again. She wondered breathlessly what he would do, what marvelous new sensation she would discover when he removed his hand.

Instead, she found herself experiencing an unexpected prick of pain. She opened her eyes and cried out. He smothered the cry with a kiss, backing his pelvis away slightly. "I'm sorry," he said against her cheek, "This is going to hurt…" She let out a protesting whimper. "But I promise it'll get better," he ground out, slowly pushing into her again.

There was sharp pain at first, but he held himself inside of her, panting against her temple, and slowly, the pain subsided and was replaced with a deep, aching need. As soon as she shifted against him, John Smith began slowly moving in and out of her. A spot inside of Pocahontas which she had not known existed was being gently pushed against, causing a brand-new feeling to escalate rapidly inside of her. The escalating grew faster and faster as her moved faster and faster inside of her. Little moans and whimpers she couldn't control escaped her every time he pushed against that spot. Perspiration coated John Smith's dear forehead, which he pressed against hers. They gasped together for breath. Pocahontas ground against him, fighting not to cry out, feeling something coil deep within her womanly parts, tense and ready to release at any moment.

And then suddenly, it _did_ release, and John Smith was pounding into her, crying out a wordless expression of victory, and something hot and wet spurted inside her which was not her own, and then he collapsed on top of her, and they were holding each other, panting…

"Sorry," John said after a while. Pocahontas's head was resting comfortably against his chest. They were still fully clothed, lying side by side.

"For what?" she replied.

"…I wanted to make it special. That should have lasted much longer."

Her eyes were like saucers. "It can last _longer?"_

He chuckled, stroking her hair fondly. "_Much_ longer."

She gaped at him, her cheeks hot.

"And next time… I'll be sure to remove all of our clothes first."


End file.
